RKO 281 (1999) Movie Script

Orson?
Come into the light.
Never stand
in the shadows.
You were made
for the light.
Always remember that.
Now turn around
and make a wish.
Go on.
You must blow out
your candles.
One breath now.
That's all you get--
one chance.
Are you ready?
Now.
He came to the town
of magic and dreams,
a flashing star,
blazing through
the firmament of illusion.
He was 24 years old
and his name was Orson Welles.
Sound the trumpets,
unfurl the banners, Hollywood,
the boy wonder has arrived.
May 6th, 1915,
the prodigy makes his debut
on the world stage
in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
May 7th, he speaks
his first words, and they are
"I am a genius."
Subsequent developments
confirm this opinion.
At 18 he goes to New York,
the cauldron of the world.
Watch out, cauldron.
Orson has arrived.
Like Hannibal
over the Alps,
the boy genius invades
the Great White Way
with production
after production.
And then he takes
to the airwaves--
step two in his plan
for global domination.
This is the end now.
They're running toward
the East River.
Thousands of them,
dropping in like rats.
"The War of the Worlds"
broadcast
sends this nation
spinning into a frenzy.
Yes, the boy wonder
has fooled us all.
We had no idea
any of this was happening.
I-I--
I feel just horrible.
Mr. Welles, can you
come over here.
Mr. Welles!
Mr. Welles, over here!
How long can it possibly be
before the sunny land
of dreams
tries to harness
the combustible power
of this showman extraordinaire?
The winner in the Welles derby
is George Schaefer,
the Head of RKO Pictures.
With a contract unimaginable
before the days of Orson,
Mr. Schaefer
captures the whirlwind,
snares the beast.
Eyebrows raise
and jaws drop
when terms of the deal
come forth.
The boy wonder can
write, direct and star
in his own projects.
The studio?
Well, they just pay the bills.
Oh!
So cometh Orson.
He met the biggest
of the big
and charmed his way
through the town.
From the Brown Derby
to the Copacabana,
from Louella Parsons
to Hedda Hopper--
those rival maidens
of Hollywood gossip.
And so today, almost a year
after his arrival,
we leave the boy wonder
still hard at work
developing his much-anticipated
first feature.
We're waiting, Orson.
Genius?
Who does that cocksucker
think he is?
Word is glory boy's
all finished, Mr. Mayer.
Can't come up
with a movie.
They're laying bets
over at RKO
this deal ends up with him
never doing a picture.
Huh.
Back to New York
he goes.
Yeah.
After RKO boots him,
let's pick him up cheap.
Have him do that
"War of the Worlds" crap
as a feature.
It's money in the bank for us
and bingo,
no more genius.
This is Hollywood, junior.
What did you expect?
And you keep coming up
with the same elitist crap.
Enough, Mank.
God, I've heard this
from Schaefer
and everyone else at RKO.
I don't need to hear it
from you.
"Heart of Darkness,"
million-dollar budget.
No one wants to see that.
That's nonsense
and you know it.
Orson, what do you think
movies are about?
Don't start this, Mank, please.
No, I'm interested.
What do you think movies
are about?
Life's rich pageant.
Life's rich pageant,
my ass.
People are sick
to death of life.
They want
make-believe.
Okay? They want
Tarzan and Jane,
not "Tristan and Isolde."
You know what
they want, Mank?
Magic.
You know what your job is
in Hollywood?
Put butts in seats.
Let me see that.
It's all about selling
popcorn and Pepsi-Colas.
Not for me it isn't.
Then you're about to become
the youngest never-was
in the history
of Hollywood.
Better than the oldest
has-been.
Is it?
Okay, Mank.
What are we going to write?
I don't know.
You tell me.
You're the boy wonder.
Well?
Jesus Christ.
Come on.
The old man doesn't
cotton to lateness.
Good evening,
Mr. Hearst.
My name is
Orson Welles.
Orson!
So we set traps
everywhere, right?
And every morning,
the traps would be sprung
but there would be
no mice.
What?
So one night I noticed
Pops here
getting out of bed--
I've got it:
"Sigmund Freud:
Life and Times."
Oh, that's a great idea.
Just got your ass kicked
on Joseph Conrad
and now it's the id
and the superego.
I'll be Goddamned if he
isn't springing the traps
and leaving cheese
for the Goddamn mice.
You--
you and that guy Disney,
in love
with the damn rats.
Okay then--
Manolete.
Who?
Manolete, the great
Spanish bullfighter.
Imagine Clark here
in a glittering suit
of lights...
on the Andalusian plains.
Mr. Welles is
attempting semaphore.
Bullfighting, Miss Davies.
Oh.
Is dear Mank your bull?
My factotum,
comrade-in-arms, ally.
Flunky, pimp.
Writer.
That too.
You fight many bulls
there in New York, Orson?
No, when I was
a tender lad,
my father and I
made a tour of the grand
boulevards of Europe.
When we were in Spain
I had the good fortune
to sit at the knee
of Manolete,
the greatest bullfighter
of the age.
"What is the matador's
greatest enemy?"
he asked me.
And of course I naively
responded, "The bull."
No, the bull is merely
his adversary.
His greatest enemy
is his own fear.
You see,
to kill the bull,
one must first learn
to think like him.
Having said that,
he strode forth
gallantly into the ring.
He flourished.
Flourished again.
Suddenly the bull charged.
It thundered towards him,
its calamitous hooves
shaking the earth
beneath Manolete's feet.
And as it was almost upon him,
he stepped to the side,
flourished again
and struck.
And when
the dust cleared...
the sword was gone.
Vanished in the bloody eye
of the beast.
That is barbaric.
Of all man's sadism...
none is more depraved
than his cruelty to animals.
Oh.
In Spain, Sir,
the cruelty would be
in denying the beast
a fighting end...
as in your magnificent zoo,
for instance.
And who are you, Sir?
Orson Welles, Sir.
Ah, the actor.
Mmm. And director.
Sir
I wish you luck.
In Hollywood,
the bull and the matador
are both slaughtered.
Why the crack
about the Zoo?
Why not
just let it lie?
Because he's
a hypocrite, Mank.
Yeah, so what?
Listen,
I like to come here.
I want to be asked back.
Why? You have
no place here.
Because Marion's
my friend.
Did you hear
what he said to me?
Preaching against man's
cruelty to animals?
I mean, come on.
Listen, come here.
I want
to show you something.
The old man owns
the biggest publishing empire
in the world.
When you have all that,
you can preach
whatever you want.
Like appeasing Hitler.
A lot of people agree
with him, Orson.
He tells them
what they want to hear.
As if that was
something to be proud of.
Can't smoke here.
Of course.
How could I forget?
No smoking,
no drinking...
no moral vices whatsoever.
I suppose keeping
an alcoholic mistress
half your age is
considered a virtue here.
The old man has
his own way
of doing things.
I'll say.
Ah.
Oh God,
these parties are awful.
You need to get
out of here, Rapunzel.
That's why
he has the parties.
He says it's like
bringing the world to me.
But it's not so bad here.
I mean,
what girl doesn't want
to live in a castle?
Hey, Mr. Welles certainly
is a caution, isn't he?
And attractive,
in a... hammy sort of way.
Listen.
Why don't you come down
and stay with us
for a few days?
Just tell the old man--
He needs me here.
So how big is
this monstrosity?
The estate?
Half the size
of Rhode Island.
You're kidding me.
No. It's the place
God would have built
if he'd had the money.
Hello.
Manky.
Will you dance with me?
I'll dance with you.
Oh good. Thank you.
Ooh. You've been naughty.
Can you smell it?
So are you ever
gonna do a picture?
Oh God,
not you too, Carole.
It's gonna be fine, Orson.
You're gonna do
just great.
You're just scared.
Am I?
Mm-hmm.
Hmm.
And what am I
scared of, Carole?
Of being found out.
Of not being a genius.
God damn it, Pops.
You gotta do something.
There's no need
for that kind of language.
God damn it.
Orson.
Hmm?
You missed the beat.
Oh!
I've got it.
I know what we're going to do.
Imagine a man
who has shaped his time.
A titanic figure
of limitless ambition.
A man with an empire
at his feet,
controlling the perceptions
of everyone beneath him.
A modern feudal Lord.
The great
American biography,
a journey
into the heart
of the beast.
Oh no.
Don't you see it?
He spent a lifetime
making entertainment out
of other people's lives,
and now we turn
the tables on him.
It's perfect!
It's perfectly suicidal.
How long have
I been looking
for the answer
when all this time
it's been right here
under my nose?
Every day
in the newspapers,
on the radio,
waiting for us
in that ridiculous castle.
Orson, stop stop.
Waiting to be--
I've talked to Arnie.
He says it's all right.
He says
he's a public figure
who sought out
that publicity,
so legally he can't--
Listen to me,
you child.
He doesn't worry
about legalities.
Do you know why?
Because he has
more power than you could
even begin to imagine.
All the more reason
to do it!
'Cause he insulted you
at a dinner party?
Because he's a hypocrite.
Because he's
a political turncoat.
He claims to care
about the common man
when nothing could be
further from the truth.
Well, he's a journalist.
He owns Hollywood.
We're the shit
on his shoes.
You better go back
to Broadway, kiddo.
I expected more
from you, Mank.
Yeah, me too,
but I got used to it.
How does that feel,
getting used to it?
How does that feel,
going up to the palace
and amusing
all the lords and ladies
with the same old stories
they've heard
a hundred times before?
How does it feel being
the ugly little monkey
they keep around
to amuse themselves?
I remember
a man who wrote,
a writer who dazzled me
with his wit and insight
who hasn't had a credit
in four years
because he's been
so furiously busy
wasting himself
amusing his keepers,
because he's a sycophant
and because he's been
thrown out of every studio
in Hollywood
and no one will hire him
because he's a drunk.
Which reminds me--
I'm sorry, Mank,
you must be thirsty.
Here. Have another.
I wouldn't want to stand
in the way of progress.
Do you honestly
expect me to believe
you care about me?
You don't give a fuck
about anyone but yourself.
Hearst was right about you.
You're just another
Goddamn actor.
Mank, I'm sorry.
Orson, I don't have it
in me anymore.
I used to have dreams too,
but that's over now.
It doesn't have to be.
It is.
No studio would hire me.
I'll hire you.
I just know
this is the story.
Everything in my life--
all the potential,
all the promise--
has led to this moment,
to right now, to you and me.
Orson...
he will destroy us.
Take my hand, Mank.
We'll make history.
We'll scorch the earth.
We will astonish them all.
Notes for a novel.
My great modern tragedy...
on Hearst.
You're joking.
I guess great minds
think alike, kid.
You've never told me
about this before.
I haven't even looked
at it in 10 years.
More importantly,
I never showed it
to anyone else.
You know why?
Because I wanna
go on living.
Time to let go
of that ambition, old boy.
"Rosebud."
What?
"Marion told Carole Lombard
that the old man's pet name
for it is 'Rosebud.'"
My God, Mank.
He has a pet name
for her pussy
and you never told me?
Orson, you can't
do a picture
where you have
a pet name for a pussy.
In fact, you can't do
a picture where you have
any name for a pussy.
Oh, I think
we can find a way.
You just
don't get it, do you?
Wh-why do you think
I scrapped all this stuff?
You can't scrap this.
It's too good.
This is gold, Mank.
Gold. You want gold?
I'll give you some gold.
This is a story
you won't find
written down in there
or anywhere else
for that matter.
It's 1924 or so...
and Hearst is giving
a birthday party
for an old Hollywood producer
called Thomas Ince...
on his yacht.
And all the usuals are there
Charlie Chaplin,
Louella, et cetera.
And at this time
Marion was screwing everyone,
and so she slips off
with Chaplin.
Hearst sees this.
He goes absolutely nuts.
He's there on the deck
with a revolver,
just blasting away
like Tom Mix.
And he hits Thomas Ince
right in the chest
and he is dead.
Dead.
The empire snaps
into action.
Ince is cremated
lickety-split.
No police.
No inquest.
The Hearst papers
cover it up nice and quiet.
The next morning,
Hearst offers Louella
a lifetime contract
to keep her
all hush-hush.
Now you tell me.
You still want to take a shaft
to a man like that?
Are you kidding me?
More than ever.
It's supposed
to be Siam.
Some kind
of Balinese temple.
Does it look like
a temple to you?
Hmm.
Marion, I've spoken
to Millicent.
She said no...
again.
She believes it would put
her soul in peril.
Divorce is
a very serious sin,
evidently.
It's bullshit.
It's bullshit.
She just cares
about the money, you know?
She thinks that
I'll make you cut her
out of the will.
I do wish you wouldn't
use that language.
He's a monster, Mank,
an unfeeling monster,
like all great men.
Yeah, but how do
we dramatize that?
Say we say
there was a time
when he was innocent.
There was a time when he--
when he lost something.
Something he loved?
Hmm.
You're off there.
Men like Hearst don't love.
All men love, Orson,
or have loved.
What about Marion?
She's just another piece
in his collection.
Hmm?
She's just like one
of the animals in his zoo.
To Hearst, that is love.
"I love you.
I built you
a beautiful cage."
It's...
love on his own terms.
No?
Love on your own terms.
Those are the only terms
anybody ever knows.
There's your tragedy.
Orson.
I'm in.
What?
I'll write it.
Mank, that is
the sweetest thing
you've ever said to me.
I'll call George.
I'll get a secretary.
No, I'll get
two secretaries.
We can get Houseman.
Don't just sit there.
Start writing!
Orson, I just wanna know
when I'm gonna see a script.
How about a month?
Is that acceptable?
Acceptable? No.
Anything more than three weeks
is totally unacceptable.
All right, then fine.
What do you want me to do?
I've got New York on the phone.
I've got a fiscal quarter.
I've got Mank and Houseman
writing already.
Who?
Mankiewicz.
Herman Mankiewicz.
Mank?
That'd be
a Goddamn miracle.
"A toast then, Jedediah,
to love on my own terms,
because those are
the only terms
anybody has ever known--
his own."
Telegram
from the Christ child.
"Schaefer loves
the idea. Stop.
Keep writing. Stop.
Stop drinking. Stop.
Did you work in
the jigsaw puzzles?
Question mark.
Don't stop. Stop.
Love you madly, Orson."
Asshole. Stop.
So Gregg Toland plunks
his Oscar down
for "Wuthering Heights"
and says, "Mr. Welles,
I want to shoot your picture."
"Mr. Toland," I said,
"you are the finest
cinematographer in Hollywood.
Why would you want to work
with a stumbling neophyte?"
"Mr. Welles," he replied,
"the only way to learn
anything new is to work
with someone who doesn't know
a damn thing."
Priceless.
The whole point,
Hedda, is to use
the language of cinema
as though it's never
been spoken before,
to challenge the audience.
Why does anyone
go to the movies
in the first place?
To see themselves.
To see their own...
bizarre, complex, fascinating
and paradoxical lives--
Orson, talk English,
will you?
The most powerful
narrative tool ever invented
and it's fallen
into the hands of bankers.
Come on, Louella.
There's got to be something
more to movies than money.
I'll give you an example.
What's your favorite picture?
"Gold Diggers of 1933."
So that the transition
is somehow less painful
as the audience
leaves the theater
and returns to reality.
They feel as if
their own lives have
been touched upon,
that they have been given--
well, at least
a rendition of the truth.
That finally they have
been treated with--
Orson.
This is
all terribly interesting,
but what's all this I hear
about you and Dolores del Rio?
Now, Orson, you know
I'm just dying
to see your picture
and I know
it's gonna be boffo.
But the story's about
a publisher, right?
You're not doing Hearst,
are you?
Good God no. No no.
Our character is
more an amalgam really.
Look into my eyes
and tell me you're
not doing Hearst.
I'm not doing Hearst.
Well?
It's too long.
Oh. Well,
talk to Houseman.
He's the one
who wanted wide margins.
The flashback scheme
isn't working.
And you have to keep Susan
and Leland separate at the end,
otherwise there's
no sense of time lapse.
If you do that,
then the logic breaks down,
because--
Look, Mank.
It's a brilliant script.
No question.
Absolutely brilliant.
It just-- it needs
some shaping, that's all.
Yeah. Sure.
We should celebrate.
Drinks, Housey.
I still have
three weeks left
on my contract.
If you prepare some notes,
I'll do the revisions.
I don't have three weeks.
Schaefer wants it yesterday.
I'll send you the revisions.
Oh and, Mank,
we need to change the name.
Wha-- what?
The title?
No no, it's a grand title.
"American." I was thinking
more the character name.
"Charles Foster Craig"
doesn't...
have the knives-out poetry
I was looking for.
Okay.
I was thinking of Kane.
As in Abel?
K-A-N-E.
One strong syllable,
"Kane."
"Craig" is one syllable.
Yes, but it's not
a great syllable.
Thanks, Housey.
No, I haven't been drinking
since I started this.
To my invaluable comrades.
Goodbye.
"American"?
It's an awful title,
of course, but I--
can't think
of anything better.
Someone came up with
"A Sea of Upturned Faces"...
which has a nice,
sort of operatic ring to it.
I thought
of "John Citizen, USA,"
but that struck me
as a bit Warner Brothers
or God forbid--
Capra-esque.
"Citizen."
What?
"Citizen Kane."
That's your title.
"Citizen Kane."
A "Z" and a "K."
It wouldn't look half bad
on a poster, would it?
Don't get
too far ahead of yourself.
These budget projections--
I know, I know.
I don't know what
you want me to do.
I've already cut
the script down to the bone.
Listen to me,
and don't throw a fit.
I want you
to seriously think
about doing
"War of the Worlds."
Oh God, George,
please, no.
Do "War of the Worlds"
as a feature
and everybody'll be happy.
Don't ask me to do this.
You're a 24-year-old
novice director.
This is difficult material,
maybe impossible.
And old man Hearst
is gonna come down on us
with all he's got.
Think of the free publicity.
Oh please.
Look, George,
every idea has its moment.
This one is right now.
If it's half as good
as I think it is--
It's not
a matter of good or bad.
At the end of the day--
Why did you go
into this business, George?
Why?
Wasn't there a time
when making pictures
meant something to you,
that it mattered
just a little bit,
that they were worth
taking risks for?
George, If you look
into my eyes right now
and tell me to go make
"War of the Worlds,"
I will.
I'll make it.
And yes,
it'll make you money,
and I honestly--
I can't think
of a reason why you should
let me make this picture
except that you should.
You know,
I'd do anything
to get you the hell
out of my office.
Here. Go make
the Goddamn picture.
All right. Tracking.
Medium shot, close-up.
Reverse.
Medium shot.
Reverse.
What lens is that?
24. Open aperture.
We used it
on "Long Voyage."
Could you run
that reel again, Frank?
That's the one there.
I'm not sure,
Mr. Welles.
I'll try.
Yeah, Mr. Welles.
You fuck.
You selfish fuck.
A studio pal--
if that's not an oxymoron--
sent it to me.
I thought we did it
together, Orson.
I thought it was
the two of us,
but, you see,
"Citizen Kane"
by Orson Welles.
You took my name off
the fucking script?
It's a mistake.
Some steno girl
obviously made a mistake.
You took my name
off the script?
You can't do that,
Orson.
I fucking-well can.
I own your Goddamn script,
and I can do
anything I want.
Don't you forget
for one minute
that I took
your 350 pages
of drunken rambling
and made
a movie out of them.
And now I've got to shoot
the son of a bitch,
so thank you.
Thank you very much,
but I have all I need.
And stop calling me.
Today...
Today we are beginning
a great adventure.
Together, we're going
to tell a story
that I think is
of some importance.
Now... I won't lie to you.
I have absolutely
no idea what I'm doing.
Every one of you
has had more time
on a soundstage than I have.
Every one of you
knows your job
and I, of course,
am still learning mine.
I ask for your patience
and your help.
And I ask
for one other thing.
That you...
allow yourselves to get
a little lost with me...
to travel
into the dark wood
of uncertainty,
to take
a few wrong turns.
Because along the way, I--
I think we just might discover
something amazing together.
That's swell, Orson.
Now where do you want
to put the camera?
It's a director's contract.
Why the hell
did you sign this?
This is a suicide note,
George.
The bastard's got us
by the balls.
I trust him, Harry,
deep down.
Have you seen 24?
Yeah, I've never seen 24.
I've never seen
anything like 24.
I don't believe it.
What?
He shot three scenes,
two with dialogue,
when he was only supposed
to be doing camera tests.
George, the man is
obviously an anarchist.
Yeah...
who's two days
ahead of schedule.
Son of a bitch. 281.
I need you
to look at the camera,
right into the lens.
Don't take your eyes off it
till I yell, "Cut."
Thank you, darling.
The lines aren't important
right now. You sit right here.
See if you can get your--
sorry, Sir.
She's fine, thank you!
You just look
right into the camera
and you'll be fine.
All right? Great.
I still think
we should under-crank
and play it backwards.
When I want your opinion,
Gregg, I'll ask for it.
Collaboration, Orson.
Make it fast, Andy!
Orson.
Call it, Kit.
Kit: Roll camera!
And action!
Oh!
Thank you,
ladies and gentlemen.
That was terrific.
Wonderful, Dot, really.
Really wonderful.
Top-notch.
Ahem.
On the next one,
maybe you could close
your mouth a little bit.
We can go for a slightly
more subtle version.
Well done though.
Right. Well...
Obviously,
we need to go again.
I'll...
be in makeup.
Orson, you cannot
just destroy a camera,
for Christ's sakes.
Do you have any idea
what these things cost?
I know, George.
I feel terrible about it.
How about this one,
Mr. Welles?
That with a black tie.
Coming through.
We borrowed one
from next door.
Well, stole it really,
but I don't think
they'll notice till Monday.
Look, I need--
Perhaps this,
Mr. Welles?
Try it with the other one.
I'm sorry.
I need Agnes
for another day.
Do you think you could
fix it for me?
Good.
Look, thanks, George.
I've got to run, okay?
Gregg!
What?
Action.
Rosebud?
I'll tell you
about Rosebud.
Cut. Let's go again.
Action.
Rosebud?
Shit.
Keep rolling.
Rosebud?
I'll tell you
about Rosebud.
Cut. Again.
George:
Orson, you cannot shoot
56 takes of one line.
It's the climax
of the picture, George.
Don't you see?
The audience has been waiting
for two hours to find out
what Rosebud is.
If they don't believe
they're about to,
we've let them down.
The trick doesn't work.
The whole picture
depends on it!
Orson, it's one line.
Cut, print, end of story.
Drunk. What do you care?
You don't care about
anything except you.
You just want
to persuade people
that you love 'em so much
that they ought
to love you back.
Only you want love
on your own terms.
Orson?
You want to cut?
No no.
No no no, keep rolling.
Right. Sorry, Joe.
Anywhere
in your speech.
Ready?
Action.
Drunk.
What do you care?
And I'm looking at them, and...
they're looking back at me
waiting for
something brilliant.
They ought to
love you back.
The only thing is,
so am I.
Waiting for some moment
of inspiration
that'll finally
convince them all
that I'm worth
all the time
and trouble and money
they've invested in me.
But I'm not,
am I, Mank?
I'm just a fraud
who couldn't care less
about anyone except himself.
Isn't that right?
I don't know, Orson.
Is that what you think?
I don't know
what I think.
That's the problem.
I just know
that I miss you and...
I was wondering if you
might consider coming back.
First you wanted me out.
I'm out.
I'm sorry.
This is the shooting script
we've been using every day.
I just-- I thought
you'd like to see it.
Did I ever tell you
about my father?
He was a drunk,
my dad.
When my mother died,
I was obliged to accompany him
on his business trips--
Europe, China.
I suppose
in one sense it was
a way of seeing the world.
Richard Head Welles
and his amazing boy genius.
But he would drink,
and it would get
embarrassing
and well, I--
I began to resent him
because I was
so sparkling, you see.
So when we got home
and I went off to school,
I... decided
to cut him off.
I turned my back
on him because...
I couldn't have him
getting in the way
of my genius.
He would write me letters
that I would never answer.
He would call me
and I would ignore his calls.
When he eventually
visited me at school,
I would manage
to find myself
conveniently indisposed.
When I finally
did see him again,
he was in a coffin.
I was 15.
And...
all of a sudden,
he wasn't the--
the embarrassing drunk
anymore.
He was my father.
He was the man
who showed me the world.
Have you shot
the beach scene yet?
No.
Good.
It occurred to me
the other day
that we're starting that scene
completely incorrectly.
We should--
no, we should...
Closer.
Closer. Stop.
Can you see my shoes?
Yeah, but we lose your head.
Joe! Do me a favor
and stand in here, will you?
Look, Gregg,
it has to be lower.
This is "the" scene.
We have to look up
at these two men as pillars
soaring to the sky,
towering virtues in combat--
Orson!
We've been through this.
We can't get
the camera any lower,
so find
another Goddamn shot!
Orson, what the fuck
are you doing?
Looks like he's
tearing out the floor.
It's 4:00
in the Goddamn morning.
My favorite time
of day, Gregg.
I've set back the sacred cause
of reform, is that it?
( chuckles )
All right.
If that's
the way they want it.
People have made
their choice.
It's obvious the people
prefer Jim Gettys to me.
You talk about the people
as though you own them,
as though
they belong to you.
Orson,
I'm so Goddamn tired.
Keep rolling, Gregg.
I can't remember the lines.
For Christ's sake.
Come on, Joe.
You're drunk,
you're angry.
Now use it.
We're not all hopped up
on Benzedrine, Orson.
Some of us humans
need sleep.
That's good, Joe.
Now give me the Goddamn line.
I know you've been
waiting for weeks to say
something to me.
Don't tell me
you've gone soft now.
You don't care
about anything except you.
You just want
to persuade people
that you love 'em so much
that they ought
to love you back.
Only you want love
on your own terms.
A toast then,
Jedediah...
to love
on my own terms.
Those are the only terms
anybody ever knows--
his own.
Cut. Print.
What's next, Gregg?
That's it, Orson.
We're done.
What?
We're done.
Well...
How about a real drink,
then, hmm?
Mr. Welles, compliments
of Mr. Schaefer.
Daylight. Hey.
Oh! Oh!
Orson?
Hedda here.
Orson on phone:
Oh, Hedda, what a surprise.
You naughty boy.
What?
You told me that
I would positively be
the first human soul
to see your masterpiece
and here I read
in the "Reporter"
there's a screening
for the magazines tonight.
That's only
a rough cut.
Oh, rough cut.
Been there, Orson,
know the drill.
See you tonight.
Hedda, Hedda, I--
Little prick.
This is awful.
There's no music.
The sound
isn't even synced.
Relax.
They've all seen
a rough cut before.
I know, but why Hedda, George?
The magazines are one thing--
If Hedda says she's coming,
you just mix up a batch
of martinis and pray.
What did that mean?
Oh, Mr. Hearst.
Sir Yes?
Hello. I am so delighted
you could take my call.
I just wanted
to let you know
that I saw this
Orson Welles picture
last night.
First screening ever,
don't you know?
And, Mr. Hearst, I just
don't understand something.
I do not understand
why Louella
has not told you
that it's all about you.
It's about me?
Yes.
In detail?
Yes.
Thank you
for this information.
No, it's my pleasure, Sir.
Yes?
Mr. Schaefer,
Miss Louella Parsons is here.
Here?
As in right outside?
Yes Sir.
Tell her
to wait a minute.
Yes--
Shit.
Schaefer.
Louella.
I gotta see
this Welles picture.
I was just fixing
something to drink.
You drink
at 10:00 a.m.?
No, I meant--
And I want to see
the picture today.
Well, that may be
a tad difficult.
Oh, cut the malarkey,
buddy.
The boss himself wants me
to see the picture today.
He asked you personally?
That's right.
Hearst?
Bingo.
I'll be back at noon.
Oh joy.
You will continue
with your singing, Susan.
I don't propose to have
myself made ridiculous.
You don't propose to have
yourself made ridiculous?
What about me?!
I'm the one that's
gotta do the singing!
I'm the one that gets
the raspberries!
Why don't you
let me alone?!
It's all you.
The war with Pulitzer,
the castle, Marion.
Sir How so?
The jigsaw puzzles
and... the career.
The man spending a fortune
to make her a star.
Only it's opera
and not movies.
And...
Yes?
...the drinking.
Go on.
The whole picture's a mess.
Jumps all over the place.
Very arty.
It's all built
around this sled
called Rosebud that the guy
had when he was a kid.
What did you say?
Yeah,
that's the guy's last words.
They're about a sled he had
as a kid called Rosebud.
Makes no sense at all.
Rosebud.
Yeah.
So our life is
the subject for mockery.
All of it.
Every personal detail.
Thank you
for your time.
Thank you, Sir.
Miss Parsons.
I have one additional
question for you.
Sir?
Why were we not informed
of this sooner?
Sir?
I pay you
a good deal of money
to be my eyes and ears
in Hollywood,
do I not?
If you cannot provide
this simple service,
then you are
of no use to me.
But, Sir--
Please be quiet.
This young man
has made a motion picture
detailing my life.
This motion picture was made
at a not-insignificant studio
and you knew
nothing about it.
He lied to me.
He looked me in the face
and told me
it wasn't about you.
And how do you feel
when you are lied to?
I want blood.
Good.
Retain that feeling.
Let it nourish you.
It shall nourish us both.
Randolph.
Louie.
I hope you don't mind
my popping in like this.
Not at all.
Come on. Sit down.
What a wretched place
this is.
I never come to town
without feeling filthy.
You really must buy
that piece of property
near the castle
and come North.
I wish I could,
but... business.
Which is why I'm here.
You've heard of this
"Citizen Kane" picture?
Yeah. RKO.
Mmm.
Evidently it details
the exploits
of a newspaper publisher,
much like myself.
Entirely
too much like myself.
No one wants
their private life
paraded about
for the curiosity
of the moviegoing public...
if you catch my drift.
I don't see how
the release of this picture
will do anyone
any good really.
So sue him.
That's what I'd do.
Thank you, Louie.
I'll keep it in mind.
Say, while I'm in town,
why don't the two of us
drop by the L.A. Country Club
and play 18 holes?
Hmm?
Maybe we could get
Mr. Warner to join us.
And Mr. Cohn,
and Mr. Selznick
and Mr. Goldwyn.
The club is restricted.
Oh, so it is.
How silly of me.
I sometimes forget
that you're all Jews.
Apparently quite a number
of people forget
if they ever knew.
See what you can do about
this "Citizen Kane" picture.
Will you, Louie?
That's right, fella.
And Mr. Hearst has
authorized me to tell you
that you're looking
at the most beautiful
lawsuit in history
if you release
this picture.
He'll bleed
your little studio dry,
and you can all
go on back to New York
and do Shakespeare
with the boy wonder.
Can I talk to Hearst?
You are talking to him.
The "Journal" was
particularly harsh
on Roosevelt today.
You really oughta
lay off him, Pops.
He is the president,
you know.
He's a Bolshevik.
He'll have us
at war with Germany
within the year.
I think I'll run that picture
of him in a wheelchair.
Please don't.
What do you think?
Sir?
We got the call.
Mm-hmm?
Thank you, Joseph.
What is it, Pops?
Nothing for you
to worry about.
What is it?
The SEC has
turned down my request
for relief
on the debts.
How much?
It's not something--
How much?
$125 million.
We're $125 million
in debt?
Yes.
Wow.
How does one get
$125 million in debt?
One... buys things.
Oh.
We open on Monument Valley.
Towering stalagmites
reaching towards heaven.
We track in
on a single solitary figure.
A quiet man.
Come here.
A lonely man.
What did I tell you?
Who is he?
...but I want it cold.
I don't want a hot sound.
No vibrato. No vibrato.
You wanna do
"The Life of Christ"?
You have to admit, it has
a built-in audience, Gregg.
We shoot it like a western--
vibrant, stark, modern.
All on location
in the Mojave Desert.
Hey, Gregg.
His next picture--
he wants to play Christ.
Yeah, I hope
he's planning to start
with the crucifixion.
You read Louella?
I am trying to work.
Sorry, Bernie,
we'll take it outside.
It sounds wonderful.
So what am I today,
a puny upstart
or a spoiled dilettante?
It wouldn't be that.
She probably can't spell
"dilettante."
"And how is the country
to feel when this industry
continues to employ
bedraggled foreigners
and swarthy refugees
instead of real Americans?
Doesn't Hollywood know
there's a depression on?
Don't real Americans
deserve work?"
At least she's off "Kane."
Off "Kane"?
Orson, this is code language
to the studio bosses.
"Bedraggled foreigners
and swarthy refugees"?
Who the hell do you think
that could be?
I don't know.
Peter Lorre?
Who owns this town?
Who runs every studio?
Jews.
Okay, they're Jews. So what?
They're Jews, just like you.
Just listen, you idiot.
This is just the first shot.
The next time, she will
actually use the "J" word
and the studio bosses
will do anything
to keep that word
from going into print.
And Hearst knows it.
What are
they gonna do, Mank?
Are they gonna kill me?
Is that what you think?
Why don't you ask
Thomas Ince that question?
Sorry, Mr. Welles,
we need to be able to hear.
Orson. Orson.
He knows.
Do you understand
what that means?
That he knows?
He knows.
What are you afraid of, Mank?
It's done, it's in the can.
There's nothing they can do.
Yeah, and it will stay
in the can.
That film
will never come out.
Hearst will not allow it.
The studio heads will
not allow it.
That film will never see
the light of day.
Are you
on their side, Mank?
What?
That's what
it sounds like to me.
Are you on their side?
I mean, for Christ's sakes,
you wrote the Goddamn script.
You fought for the credit.
That's right,
and I told you that this
would happen, didn't I?
Didn't I tell you? Huh?
Right. Listen,
I got my check.
You got yours.
Let's move on.
I will not move on!
Who are they, Mank?!
Who are these men that
you're so afraid of?!
Who are these
tiny little fucking men?!
They're accountants.
We're ready.
You wanna hear it?
Switch it off.
Switch it off!
Would everybody
please leave?
They got us,
didn't they, Pops?
I mean, they nailed us,
didn't they?
The crazy old man
and his whore.
Marion.
Bought and paid for
just like one
of his Goddamn statues.
At least in the movie,
he marries her.
That picture--
I-I'm not that woman.
I know what I could've been
and I know what I gave up
to be with you.
I mean,
they've even got
the Goddamn jigsaw puzzles
in there, Pops.
Why? Why did
they do that to us?
Why would they
do that to us?
I don't know. I don't know.
Has he no idea
of the power that
controls him?
Get me Louella Parsons.
Now.
Fancies himself an artist.
That's not art.
It's an abomination.
The man's a charlatan,
a gossipmonger and a fraud.
Miss Parsons,
I have Mr. Hearst.
Miss Parsons.
Use the file.
So what have we got here, L.B.?
We got faggots
and commies and junkies.
We got movie stars
screwing niggers
and little girls.
We got Jews.
We got MGM,
Warner Brothers,
Columbia,
Disney and Fox.
We got Hollywood.
What do you want?
Kill "Citizen Kane."
How?
I don't give a shit.
Now, the boss has been
working on some stuff,
and I've been working
on some stuff.
Now I want all of you boys
working on some stuff,
'cause if it looks
like this movie is
ever gonna come out,
I start running
down the street
with these pictures
like a screaming woman
with her throat cut,
you follow?
Joe, how bad is it?
Ms. Davies--
Come on, Joe,
how bad is it?
It's bad.
I've been thinking about
the "Examiner" in Chicago.
It's just not
making any headway
against the "Tribune."
Circulation
is way down.
I think we should buy
the "Tribune,"
eliminate
the competition.
And I'm starting
a campaign
against Mr. Welles
and his tawdry little film.
Yeah.
Sure, Pops.
Mmm.
What do you want me to do?
I'm telling you,
no one's willing
to open this movie.
So we open in Dallas
and Detroit, Kalamazoo.
It doesn't matter.
For God's sakes, George.
We could show it
in a circus tent!
Come on, Orson.
We have to go public.
If they see "Kane,"
he's exposed.
The film is
our best defense!
If we get
the press on our side--
He is the press!
God damn it.
George, wait.
George.
You don't understand
that the stockholders
in New York
are scared shitless.
We start a publicity campaign
against Hearst now
and he'll destroy
every RKO picture
that's out there.
I'm about this far away
from being fired myself,
and I'm the only friend
you have in the world
right now.
So you've got to trust
that I'll do what I can.
We have to fight them.
We have to go on the radio--
Radio? You think this is
some kind of a fucking game?
Do you have any idea
how many people RKO employs?
You wanna shoot
yourself in the head,
you just go right ahead
and do it. I can't stop you.
But you're not gonna drag
this company down with you.
George, we need
to make a statement.
We have to tell people
what's he's trying to do.
There's not gonna be
any statements!
I'm talking about jobs.
I'm talking
about food on the table.
No, you're not.
You're talking about
letting them
bury my picture.
"My picture."
"My picture."
I'm so sick and tired
of hearing you say that.
It's my picture too.
It's his life.
Did you ever think about that?
How can you
defend him, George,
after what he's done to us?
He's a monster.
He's a soulless monster!
Oh, come on.
Who are you kidding, kid?
Huh?
You're the soulless monster!
George, please, no.
George, listen to me.
Orson, Orson!
It's all I've got!
Orson!
It's all
I've got, George.
Whose fault is that?
Explain it to me then.
There is nothing
to explain.
Millions of dollars a year
on art and statues
and there's nothing
to explain?
I will not defend
my life to you.
I'm not asking you
to defend anything, Pops,
but we are in a pickle here
and we need to talk about it.
We are in no pickle, as you
so euphemistically put it.
You gotta
wake up now, Pops.
There is nothing more
to discuss.
You don't have
any money left, okay?
That's what no one else
will tell you.
You are broke.
You spent it all.
You cannot buy the Goddamn
"Chicago Tribune."
You can't buy
a Goddamn thing.
You are being excessively
theatrical, Marion.
As it just so happens,
I need the "Tribune."
But that's just it.
You don't need it.
You don't need any of it.
I mean, that statue,
for instance--
how much did that cost?
It's 17th century
from Avignon.
That's in France.
I know where fucking
Avignon is, okay?
There is no need
for you to use that
kind of language with me.
Did you need it?
Did you need any of it?
I wanted it.
And there is a difference
between "want" and "need."
Not to me!
Why? Why?
Just so you could show
what a big man you are?
Is that it?
That's right.
You've captured me exactly.
And so, good night.
Where are you go--
Hey, Pops,
you will-- you will not
walk out on me this time!
You are repellent to me
when you drink.
Well, tough shit,
because we have
to talk about this.
You are crude,
slovenly
and unattractive,
and this discussion
is at an end.
Fuck you, Mr. Kane.
I will not have this
in my home.
I'm just trying
to understand, Pops.
No, you're not.
You want to condemn me,
like everyone else.
You want to point your finger
at the pathetic old man
grown lunatic
with his spending,
trapped in his
ridiculous castle,
still fighting old battles
he will never win.
No, Pops.
There is nothing
to understand.
Only this:
I am a man
who could've been great...
but was not.
I was 18 when we met.
He was 50.
Really?
I just saw that
big old gold ring
and I just grabbed right on
'cause he was gonna
make me a star.
And he did.
Yeah.
I wanted to do comedies.
Silly stuff, you know?
But Pops,
he doesn't get
comedies too good.
He kept putting me
in those period pieces.
Carole, you know this...
"Citizen Kane" movie?
The one that's supposed
to be about Pops
and everything,
and the character
of Susan Alexander
is supposed to be me?
Marion,
everyone knows
you're not like that.
But that's just the thing.
I am like that.
This little girl
comes from nowhere
and meets this--
this guy.
He rules the world,
you know?
And-and-and...
somewhere along the line
she gets lost.
Thinking like that
is only gonna drive you nuts.
You were a great star.
You had a good run.
That ought to be enough.
But all of a sudden
it's not.
You know?
It's hell when you gotta
look back and you say...
"What I could've been."
Can I help you?
My Lord.
How much
for all of it?
In an armchair
by the fireside
Just big enough for two
We'll be happy...
...of the Nazi weapons
of destruction.
Oh so happy...
It is unmistakably
apparent to all of us
that unless
the advance of Hitlerism
is forcibly checked now
the western hemisphere--
A little kiss or two
In the gloaming
by the fireside
With you.
You got my memo.
What do we do?
He's a fucking pisher.
Why does Hearst
give a shit?
It's enough that he does.
Would Louella really do it?
In a New York minute.
I say to hell with Louella,
to hell with Hearst.
This hits all of us.
It's our business
and we can't take it lying down.
We all didn't make
"Gone with the Wind," you know?
Some of us can't afford
your principles.
We gotta look
at this checkbook-wise.
Who isn't hurting already?
All this "Jew" talk?
Now he's boycotting RKO ads.
Next week it's Warners,
Fox or Columbia, right?
Goddamn right.
He's got us nailed.
Dates, times...
photographs,
for God's sake.
I don't mean
to be funny, but...
what could he have
on Mickey Mouse?
He's got you so tied in
with J. Edgar Hoover
and America First
you might as well put on
a brown shirt and kiss those
happy little kiddies goodbye.
Relax, Walt.
At least he don't have you
screwing Snow White.
I got fuckin' Errol Flynn
on my payroll.
You're a smart man, Louie.
I suspect
you didn't call us all here
without a plan.
Give over.
We will buy this movie...
and we will destroy it.
We will assemble
a fund between us
and we will go
to George Schaefer...
and we will buy
the negative and every print
of "Citizen Kane"
and we will burn them.
If I don't hear
an objection to this agenda
in the next five seconds,
I'll assume the motion
is carried.
Very well.
What does it profit a man
to gain the whole world
if he loses his soul?
And John the Baptist says,
"A night with Rita Hayworth?"
George! Just the man
we're looking for.
Look.
Not a single scene
shot in the studio.
Of course, you're gonna have
to help me with accounting--
I think you should
sit down.
I don't want
to sit down, George.
All right,
don't sit down.
The bosses
of the other studios
have made an offer
of $800,000
to buy the negative
and all the prints...
to burn them.
They went
to the stockholders
in New York.
I've been talking
to Swanbeck.
I think they're
going to take it.
Hmm.
You shit.
You treacherous
little shit.
Orson!
This isn't George's fault.
Shut up, Mank.
You wanna take
my movie, George?
Is that it?
Is that what you
came here for?
Okay, take it.
But why not take it all,
George, hmm?
Why not take
everything, George?
Easy!
Everything I am,
everything I could be
is in that film.
Take it, George.
Here, I offer it up to you.
Take it.
No, George, wait.
George, wait,
please.
George, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Look, I am.
George, please just--
just--
give me one more chance.
Let me go to New York.
Please, George,
let me go talk
to the stockbrokers
and I promise you--
I promise you,
you will never see me again.
Ace of spades.
Ace of spades.
Good afternoon.
Today
a man from Germany
invaded Greece.
He's already
swallowed Poland,
Denmark, Norway
and Belgium.
He's bombing London
as I speak.
Everywhere this man goes,
he crushes the life
and the freedom
of his subjects.
He sews yellow stars
on their lapels.
He takes their voices.
In this country, we--
we still have our voices.
We can argue with them
and we can sing
and we can be heard
because we are--
for the moment--
free.
No one can tell us
what to say
or how to say it.
Can they?
Gentlemen...
I am one voice.
That is all.
My picture is one voice.
One view, one opinion,
nothing more.
Men are dying in Europe now,
and Americans soon will be,
so that we can surmount
the tyrants and the dictators.
Will you send a message
across America
that one man
can take away our voices?
So...
who is Mr. Hearst...
and who is Mr. Welles?
Well, Mr. Hearst
built a palace
of brick and mortar
and little wars
and corpses piled high.
Mr. Welles built
a palace of illusion.
It's...
what we call
a matte painting.
It's a camera trick.
It's nothing.
Nothing but a dream.
Today...
you have the chance
to let the dream triumph.
Thank you.
We open May 1st.
It was
a pretty speech, Orson,
but you got lucky.
Hearst is going bankrupt.
It's all over the wire.
Pretty speeches
change the world, George.
You meant it, right?
Does it matter?
Yes!
It matters.
We will be immediately
closing 12 of the papers
and the wire services.
And we will be liquidating
some other assets
as soon as possible--
most of the land in Mexico
and your collection
of art and antiquities.
Mr. Hearst spent his life
collecting this art.
We've been in touch
with Gimbels in New York
and they've agreed to hold
a special sale.
They've given over
an entire floor
to the merchandise.
You'll have to go there
in person
to sign the bill of sale,
by the way.
We don't know yet
whether we'll be able
to retain the castle.
The land has some capital.
We might be able to keep it on
as an investment.
Maybe break it up
into smaller units
for housing.
When will it come out?
We can't keep it
a secret, Sir.
Once we announce
the Gimbels' sale and start
liquidating the assets.
Let it go, Pops.
Let it go.
Mr. Hearst, I'm not sure
if you remember who I am.
My name's Orson Welles--
I know who you are.
Well, then you probably
also know
that I've got a picture
opening tomorrow night.
Be happy to arrange
some tickets for you,
if you'd like to come.
I wonder...
have you any idea
the damage you've done?
Do you?
Intimately.
For every sin
you've placed on my head,
I could give you
a hundred others.
But I believe that
a man's private life
should not be made
public property.
Despite what you may have
read in your papers,
I'd like to think
my film was more than
a cheap expose
of one man's life.
And what would you call it?
My man gains the world
and loses his soul.
I suppose in some circles
that would be considered
a fair exchange.
It's not my life you sabotaged
with your film, Mr. Welles.
My battle with the world
is almost over.
Yours, I'm afraid,
has just begun.
Good luck, Mr. Welles.
Kane would've taken
the tickets!
It's my birthday this week.
Did you know that, George?
Happy birthday.
Ain't it the bee's knees
to see
all the high muckety-mucks
dolled up
like Aztecs
for human sacrifice?
You gonna watch?
I know how it ends:
Rosebud's the sled.
Mank!
Rosebud's the sled.
Come on.
It doesn't matter.
They'll hate it, anyway.
Not enough close-ups,
too many New York actors.
Knock it off, Mank.
Relax, kid.
You made
a great picture.
Now we have
to convince them.
So does this mean you're in
for "The Life of Christ"?
I got the axe
this morning.
Oh, you're kidding?
It's all right.
I made my choices,
same as you.
This whole
Hearst nightmare...
who's gonna remember it?
Nobody.
We'll be lucky if they
remember the Goddamn movie.
What have I done?
Come on.
He'll land on his feet.
He always does.
Let's get a drink.
Still I can't get
no place with you
'Cause you're
so supreme...
We pulled it off,
didn't we, Mank?
Depends on what side
you're on.
I dream, dream day
and night of you...
Look, Mank, I--
I never meant to--
Sure you did.
Anyway,
was it worth it?
I don't know.
I can't imagine doing it
any other way.
I suppose
it's just my character.
It won't be easy,
having made your
masterpiece at 26.
Is that what you think?
That I'm just gonna burn out
at the ripe old age of 26?
All stars burn out, Orson.
It's the flame that counts.
To the flame.
To the flame.